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[On-Going/PG-13] Dreamscape

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[On-Going/PG-13] Dreamscape Empty [On-Going/PG-13] Dreamscape

Post by Kyn on 10/6/2009, 8:27 pm

[On-Going/PG-13] Dreamscape Dreamscape

It was raining, just like that night 10 years ago. I stood at my window, my eyes taking in every single color, imagining the brush strokes I would make to give my art the same texture. There was the garden filled with orchids and azaleas, my mother’s favorite flowers, or maybe the lake where I learned to swim with my dad. No, none of those where right, they were beautiful, but they weren’t him. No matter how soft the flower petals, they weren’t as delicate as the contours of his face. The deepness of the lakes waters didn’t compare to the depth of his brown eyes in a single glance. His face plagued me day and night. Why him, what makes him so special?

Inspiration : Asthetic Medly
Art : 3minut3s at black and white
Storyline : Kyn


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Last edited by Kyn on 1/3/2010, 1:29 pm; edited 4 times in total

[On-Going/PG-13] Dreamscape Mwtuut

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[On-Going/PG-13] Dreamscape Empty Chapter One

Post by Kyn on 10/7/2009, 5:09 pm

“Your strokes are too heavy. You might not notice it now, but it’s going to make the emotion behind this all wrong.” My mother said resting her hand on my shoulder. “Her long fingers wrapped around my hand. Like this; soft and swift. Now you try.” She said showing me the correct motion.
I nodded my head in response; it was all I could do. I longed to tell her yes I understand, and even more than that, I love you mom. But I cannot. You could consider me very lucky, most people would. My parents were beautiful and loving; some say I get my good looks from them. We were blessed with enough fortune to last us two lifetimes. We were talented, my mother Yoon Eun Hye the world renowned painter, my father Jung Yunho the writer, and me the girl trying to follow in their footsteps. One thing was missing, something I would trade everything for; my voice.

What are you drawing? I asked through sign language.

“Nothing really, just the gates.” She said to me, keeping her attention on her canvas, but looking back at me now and then waiting for my response.


“You know how they always capture my attention.”

They are straight and boring; there is one with every house in the neighborhood.

“But these are especially interesting, you just never looked at them the way I did.”

How do you look at them Mom?

“With my memories Dan Shim.” She said with a faraway look in her eyes. “I think we did enough for today, your dad should be coming home soon as well. Do me a favor and carry the supplies back to the studio. I’ll take care of the painting okay?”

I walked through our yard and into the house. It was silent except for my footsteps against the marble floor; I loved to hear the sound of my footsteps. On the third floor was where my parents worked. My father had his office at one end, and my mother’s studio was at the other. The studio was very simple, the walls where made of wood giving it a rustic feel, the floor was a red carpet stained by paint over the years, and at one end was a door that remained locked. I had never seen the other side of it.

I walked back down stairs into the living room where both of my parents waited for me. From the silence I would have guessed there was no one in the room.

Is it dinner time?

“Now that you’re here, yes.” My father replied, a smile taking hold of his lips right away. “What did you do today?”

As I filled him in, my mother trailed behind us. Dinners in this house where always very awkward, I always assumed it was because of the distance between everyone, my parents sat at opposite ends of the table with ten feet of wood between them, while I sat in the middle. My mom had always taught me to use an inside voice, so they must be doing the same.

Years ago the house would be filled with the bustling of staff, but ever since my accident Dad kept very few of them. Those who remained were rarely seen. I may have become mute, but it seemed like my parents took on the same silence.

Later that night I retreated to my bed, I got under the covers, burying myself in them. Every day is a gift, and every morning is a wonder. I chanted the sutra my mother had taught me and fell into a deep sleep.

“Let’s go Dan Shim, just follow me.” He said as he took my hands into his.

“Where are we going, where’s Mommy?” I said

“She’s waiting for us, just follow me.”

“And Daddy too?”

“We need to hurry Dan Shim, time’s running out.” I removed my hand from his.

“What about Daddy?” I said again with tears running down my face.

“Don’t cry Dan Shim, the last thing I would ever want you to do is cry. Smile again, for me, pretty please.” I didn’t smile, but took his hand again.

“Okay, I’ll get that smile later.” He replied letting out a deep laugh. His smile lit up his entire face, his eyes crinkled and I could feel part of me get lighter, but then his face started to fade away.

“Dan Shim, are you okay?” my mom said stroking my hair once I had opened my eyes. “You’re crying.” My hands crept up to my face; I could feel the trails of salt water on my cheeks. “It must be the rain.”

I hadn’t noticed the storm outside until she mentioned it. Thunder storms had always scared me since that night. It’s the only thing I can remember from when I was younger; my earliest memory is waking up in the hospital at the age of five. It hurt my parents to see me like that, especially my mom. My nanny used to say that part of her died that night.

“Do you want me to sleep with you?”

I nodded my head in response.

Mom wiped my tears and climbed into bed with me. Her thin arms wrapped around me and she cradled me. I hadn’t been held like this by mom since I was ten. For years I would wake up panicked, sweating from my nightmares. I wouldn’t be able to sleep until she held me like this, for a while she slept with me even when I didn’t have nightmares. It was embarrassing since I was already fifteen, but Mom still had the same affect, within minutes I was sleeping again, this time without dreams.

Last edited by Kyn on 10/11/2009, 9:27 pm; edited 1 time in total

[On-Going/PG-13] Dreamscape Mwtuut

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[On-Going/PG-13] Dreamscape Empty Like Mother, Like Daughter

Post by Kyn on 10/11/2009, 2:21 pm

“Dan Shim, Dan Shim; follow me. Dan Shim, Dan Shim, I’m waiting.”
As I chased after him I could feel the damp earth beneath my feet. It climbed between my toes and cradled me feet. My heavy footsteps were in synch with his light and agile ones. The soft pitter patter of rain fell onto the leaves of the forest trees. They slithered down the leaves, and fell onto my skin like the beat of a drum.

“Wait! Don’t go.” I called after him, but he was already too far away. He turned and gave me one last smile before he faded away into the night. “Don’t go, don’t go.” I continued to mumble. “It’s my entire fault. I’m sorry, just don’t go.”

I woke up in a sweat. The thick darkness of my dream had been replaced by the blinding sunlight shining through my bedroom window.

Him again.

I still wasn’t comfortable with the way he commanded my thought. My dreamless nights from the week before had been replaced by visions of him. I hadn’t told anyone, friends or family that I dreamt of a stranger repeatedly. My friends would tease endlessly over my “midnight romance”. My mom, well she’d do the same. My father wouldn’t think much of it. The problem wouldn’t lie in their reaction, but their response. They would think too lightly of things, there is some importance behind him. I just don’t know what it is.

I washed up and headed to the garden for breakfast. The only person to greet me there was Dad. Mom had left a few days earlier for a gallery opening. On days when it was just me and Mom, or Dad and I, we dropped all formalities and sat in the yard for most of our meals. It seemed like when it was the three of us, they were tightly wound; each of them trying to show the other who the responsible parent was.

Good morning.

Dad didn’t say anything in response. He just looked at me with a heavy gaze.

Are you okay Dad?

“I just can’t get over how much you look like Eun Hye. There is some of me that you’re hiding in there right?”

Mom says I got my impatience from you.

“It’s just like Eun Hye to say something like that." He replied before I could finish.

But she also says that I got your logic and loyalty.

“Not that I don’t agree, but are you adding on the last part yourself right?” Dad replied with a quick smile.

Since when has Jung Yunho been so insecure? Besides, Mom really cares about you.

“Eun Hye shows her affection differently.”

That’s why you love Mom right?

“Originally, yes.” Dad said nodding

And eventually there was more.

“That’s why she’s still by my side today. Isn’t this conversation a little heavy for breakfast?”

If you say so.

After breakfast Dad retreated to his office saying he needed to get to work or his publisher would have his head. Dad’s greatest passion was his writing. He came from a wealthy and prestigious family that had established itself for generations. When he suddenly decided to move away from the family business and marry my mom (who had not yet become the artists she is today) they nearly died. They were supportive, albeit wary of his career choice. However when it came to the subject of Yoon Eun Hye they would not back down. I’m not sure how Mom gained their approval, they are very stubborn people. I always believed Dad was the type fueled by passion; that was why he couldn’t give up on his dream or Mom. How could be pop out a book every year under the force of his publisher. Did deadlines overpower his passion?

Mom was the opposite; I remember there was a time period spanning three years when she didn’t work at all. She spent most of the day in her studio, yet her canvas remained void of color. When I asked her why she didn’t work, she’d simply reply that she had lost her muse. Until the day I asked her to teach me, the paints in her studio remained untouched. I think I became her muse that day. There was part of me that loved to paint, but an even greater force saying it wasn’t meant for me. I feel like if I were to let go of the paint brush and abandon the easel, Mom would to the same.

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